


Savior and Soldier

by SweetDeceit



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2131056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDeceit/pseuds/SweetDeceit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of drabbles with Mshep and Miranda. Mshep in this is paragon (mostly) with a colonist/sole survivor background. Rated M for future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savior and Soldier

_**Author's Note: This is a series of drabbles set in no real order. Shepard is a paragon with Colonist/Sole Survivor background. I'm going to just use the pre-made Shepard appearance. I do not own Mass Effect or any of its characters in any way.** _

* * *

 

It all started with a dossier.

One dossier- one assignment- and Miranda’s life was completely changed.

As soon as she opened that dossier on her private terminal, she sat back in her seat and thought of all the different ways to achieve her new mission; resurrecting a man from the grave.

After a few minutes of pondering about it, she had a few more logical routes, and a few more less than logical. One thing she couldn’t understand though was why the Illusive man had specifically instructed her to bring him back exactly as he was when he died.

Meaning no control chip to ensure he didn’t turn against Cerberus, no change in personality, or loyalty, or…anything. Just bring him back. Exactly as he was.

She didn’t understand it; it was illogical in every way; why not secure his loyalty to Cerberus? For all the credits the project would take….why not insure such an investment? And, if he was as good as they said, secure such a powerful asset?

She made the argument to the Illusive man, but he wouldn’t budge.

And so, she fell in line, and agreed to do things his way, however illogical his way was.

When Shepard was recovered, he was brought directly to project lazarus’ facility. When she saw him for the first time, she was less than enthusiastic.

She’d read all about him; his childhood on Mindoir, the slaver raid, and how he later was the only survivor of the thresher maw attack on Akuze. He went on from there to become the first human spectre, saved the citadel and in the process took down a reaper along with countless geth.

And here he was.

Nothing but a slab of meat and bones on her operating table.

She’d read the report of how he’d died; Joker had provided the details. And, frankly, she was underwhelmed. Commander Shepard, after all of his achievements and successes, going down with his ship?

But, maybe it wasn’t how he went that made her question the Illusive man’s decision, but why he died; sacrificing himself for a pilot that could have easily been replaced- it wasn’t rational. And for Cerberus to pour so much into giving him a second chance, he’d better not waste it.

She kept all of this to herself, the last thing she needed was another lecture from the Illusive man.

For months all she was focused on was getting his heart beating and internal organs functioning. After his vital organs were fully functional, his systems began to flow together as one, but he still needed extensive muscle repair and there was barely any skin tissue left to speak of; that became her next priority.

She lost count of how many early mornings and late nights she’d put into him, but when the first brain waves spiked, she knew it was all coming together.

His brain came last, but it was the most crucial thing left to be pieced together. His memories were scattered, blurry, and incomplete. Despite having cutting edge technology, there was only one way to repair a broken mind; manually lace his memories back together.

Shepard was then hooked up to what Wilson had nicknamed ‘the dream machine’, and from there, Miranda saw Shepard’s life through his eyes.

In the beginning, it was nothing but scattered images and misplaced sequences, it took her and her team a good deal more months to fix him mentally than it did physically.

But after it was all done, those memories still weren’t pretty.

Miranda watched on the screen as Shepard’s childhood was destroyed; his whole colony was burned and his family was slaughtered before his eyes. She saw the moment he joined the alliance, was invited into the N7, and how he looked down at a picture of his parents after he graduated from the N7 program and whispered, “I did it.” In an almost disbelieving tone. He spoke as if he were talking to real people, as if the couple in the photograph was still alive.

Miranda felt…almost sympathy for the man, and for the first time, paused the vid, and turned in her chair to face the operating table Shepard was laying on just feet away. She pushed herself out of her seat and came to stand over him.

In all the time he’d been healing, she’d realized, she’d never once stopped to look at him. Like, really _look_ at him. She’d used charts and data to measure his improvement, but she never cared for the man, just the data, just the specs, that’s all that mattered.

The first thing she noticed? He was handsome. Despite the extensive scarring that still covered his face, he had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, with nice lips and a well built, yet not fully healed, body. But then something unusual came over her- curiosity.

She wanted to know what color his eyes were. She carefully lifted his lid, revealing his dilated eye that stared blankly past her. Icy blue.

She returned to her work with renewed determination.

Then came Akuze. She could barely stomach watching it. But she got through, she felt the urge to gag almost every minute as the thresher maws tore men apart, but she got through.

She was no fragile thing, she’d seen some pretty horrific stuff; the brain matter of her enemies splattering on the walls when she landed a headshot, the crushing and mangling of bones as she mutilated them with her biotics, but she would consider that all PG in comparison.

In the aftermath of Akuze, she watched as he struggled with survivor’s guilt. He’d pretended that it didn’t get to him, but in his memories of fighting after that, there was always a flashback to the threshers tearing people apart. Always.

But as she watched, the nights he spent awake, just lying in his bed awake, trying to survive till morning, where he’d have to pretend again that everything was fine. He’d have to attend another funeral of one of his former squad mates, listen and salute the casket as the family looked on through red, blurry eyes. It wore him down, that much was obvious. It would do the same to anyone.

Miranda didn’t know much about the military, but she did know this; if something was wrong psychologically with a soldier, that might as well be the end of their career.

An unstable soldier was a liability on the battlefield, he’d be stuck doing nothing important for the rest of his career.

It would have been a waste of a damn good soldier. Possibly the best.

Luckily he was able to overcome the psychological stress for the most part, and carry on as if he were fine. Not a month after the incident, he was promoted. After that, he rose through the ranks quickly and eventually became Commander.

Then there was the whole thing with Saren, and becoming the first human spectre.

And then there was more psychological trauma when Shepard had to sacrifice one of his teammates on Virmire. Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was killed in action while trying to defend Captain Kirrahe.

And Shepard didn’t handle it well.

But once again, he was good at pretending.

He continued on and defeated Saren, and from there went out in hunt of reapers.

That’s when his ship was attacked, and he killed himself getting Joker out. He was awake as he drifted through space. He was awake as his oxygen leaked from his suit, causing him to slowly suffocate. He was awake as he was pulled into Alchera’s orbit and burned alive as he fell.

Somewhere halfway to the planet’s surface, his screams finally quieted, and the last thing she heard before his eyes closed was the sound of a shallow, weak breath.

She wished there was a way to know what he was thinking in his final moments. Was he scared? Was he holding out hope that somehow he’d be saved? Or was he calmly accepting his fate?

Miranda rarely cared for what other people thought. This was one of the rare times she could recall doing so.

All his memories were intact, and her work was done.

His body was still healing though, and he wasn’t yet ready to wake up. Of course that idea was proven wrong when Wilson miscalculated the dosage of sedatives that day.

Shepard opened his eyes and immediately fell into a panic. He heard Miranda’s voice through groggy ears and could barely register what was going on. “He’s reacting to outside stimuli, showing an awareness of his surroundings. My God Miranda, I think he’s waking up!”

“Damn it, Wilson, he’s not ready yet, give him the sedatives!” Shepard looked over at her with blurry vision, locking onto her face. His brain was racing, he felt like it was going to explode his thoughts were moving so fast. He reached out to the beautiful woman, hoping she could do something to make his head stand still.

She took his hand and held it back down against the icy surface below him. “Shepard, don’t try to move, just lie still, try to stay calm.” Shepard tried to shake his head, tried to speak, but his throat was so dry, and the lights were so bright all around him. Everything hurt, his skin felt as though he were freezing, and every nerve seemed to stab at him.

The woman above him looked toward the other voice in the room with an annoyed stare as it spoke, “Heart rate’s still climbing, brain activity is off the charts, stats pushing into the red zone, it’s not working!” The woman pushed herself away from the table and Shepard looked after her.

He noticed medical machinery, he was in a lab somewhere, but it definitely wasn’t an alliance station; that much he could tell. He willed himself to move, to push himself up into a sitting position, at least.

“Another dose! Now!” Shepard managed to get his arms underneath him, and fought through the pain until he was partially upright. He noticed then why he was so cold; he was lying completely naked on a metal slab; there were dozens of tubes coming from the veins in his forearms, even more in his wrists. There were scratches and cuts all over him, and blood dripped from one cut on his side. He could suddenly feel the needles in him, and it stung like hell.

He reached to pull one out of him, trying to stop whatever ‘dose’ she was talking about from entering his bloodstream. He had to get up, had to let the alliance know where he was, had to-

Miranda was instantly back at his side, she pushed him back down easily, and held him there; “Shepard, you’re safe!” she said, her voice panicking a bit. He looked up into her blue eyes and tried once more to get up. It was useless, though. He was too weak, and he realized that now.

He shook his head and finally forced a dry, cracked word from his throat, “N-no…” he managed before he felt the sedative enter his veins. His muscles betrayed him, forcing him to relax.

“Heart rate dropping, stats falling back into normal range, thank God, we almost lost him.” The man’s voice said from across the room. His voice sounded as if he were under water, and Shepard fought to keep his eyes open as the woman above him became blurry.

She turned away from him again, “I told you the damn estimates were off, run the numbers again.”

Shepard was trained to resist sedatives, but his training was failing him and as he stared up at the bright lights above him he felt a gentle hand brush over his arm. His eyes finally closed, and he felt one of the I.V.s being pulled from his arm carefully.

A few moments later, all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. Then, there was nothing.

Miranda switched the I.Vs as Wilson sent a message to requisitions asking for a more potent sedative. “Your incompetence almost _killed_ him; his body was not ready to move, he probably destroyed half the nerves in his body just now,” she said, acid seeping into her voice, “do _not_ let _anything_ like that happen again, do you understand?”

“Yes, Miranda,” Wilson said, turning toward her with faux guilt.

Miranda turned back toward Shepard, “Good, now run the pain reception test, we need to know if he caused any serious damage; his nervous system was in a delicate spot before that little escapade.”

Wilson left the room for a reason she didn't bother listening to, she video logged that Shepard had resisted the normal dosage and would need a stronger sedative which had been requested. After that, she turned back to Shepard and looked down at the deep cut that was still healing on his ribcage. The stiches had torn, probably because his heart rate jumped so rapidly. She retrieved a pair of gloves along with alcohol wipes, surgical scissors, some new stitches, and a needle to sew up the wound again.

She cut away the remaining stiches as the blood dripped from the cut and pooled on the table beneath him. Once she slipped the old stiches out from his skin, she used the alcohol wipes to clean the wound. Her nimble hands wove the needle in and out, quickly sewing him up. "There you are, Commander," she said quietly as she finished up. She wiped the blood from the table and tossed the wipes away.

She was just about to leave for the night, but before she turned the light off and walked out, she hesitated. She looked back at him for a silent minute.

Flipping off the light, she turned again and headed for her cabin.


End file.
